


Christmas Aftermath

by Tindomerelhloni



Category: Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Advent, Aftermath, Christmas, Christmas Tree, Holiday, M/M, Presents, good omens - Freeform, ineffable husbands
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-18
Updated: 2020-12-18
Packaged: 2021-03-10 20:09:06
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,243
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28142901
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tindomerelhloni/pseuds/Tindomerelhloni
Summary: “Good Omens is copyright Neil Gaiman and Terry Pratchett. This story is licensed under the Creative Commons as derivative, noncommercial fiction. Aka, I own nothing, I will make no financial profit off of this, and it is just for fun.”
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 1
Kudos: 23
Collections: Ineffable Husbands Advent Challenge 2020





	Christmas Aftermath

**Author's Note:**

  * For [BloodSeiryu](https://archiveofourown.org/users/BloodSeiryu/gifts).



> I had intended for this to be much longer, but due to someone needing to swap dates I no longer had a week and a half to finish it up. I MIGHT come back and add a chapter on later, because I am not satisfied with this ending. But I wanted something up sooner rather than later. 
> 
> My prompt was "Aftermath" so of course, Crowley had to make a mess. 
> 
> I am giving this to my friend as an early birthday present. HAPPY BIRTHDAY MY DEAR!!!

Aziraphale stopped poking at the fireplace and watched as the last of the wrapping paper caught fire, shriveled then turned to black ash. He'd been kneeling in front of the fire for so long his knees would have gone stiff. If he were human, of course. 

"It isn't fair, Crowley..." he sighed, sending the poker into the bed of coals. The warmth from the fire radiated over his body and he had to make an effort to will his body temperature down a few degrees. Crowley had gotten him a satin cream waistcoat, which he was now wearing. Sweat stains were simply out of the question. 

"What isn't, Angel?" Came the sleepy reply. Aziraphale turned his back to the fireplace and looked over at the creature sprawled out on his sofa. The creature who had been his friend longer than anyone else on the earth had been alive. 

"That, right there. You call me Angel... I can't exactly go around calling you 'Demon' now, can I? The looks we would get."

"Snake?" Supplied the demon as he shifted, trying to get comfortable on the antique piece of furniture. Not an easy feat, but he’d managed before. Though, he’d only done so after imagining the cushions had twice the amount of stuffing. Which is exactly what he did now. Within seconds the stiff layer of foam morphed into a thick layer of extra fluffy cushion. With a sigh, he wiggled his body until he’d found just the right position.

"Hardly better. Sounds too much like the character from those Harry Potter books. No. I need something else." Aziraphale stood up from the floor, his back instantly feeling the lack of heat and he suppressed a shiver. "Crowley will just have to do, for now." He eyed his suddenly much plumper sofa and arched an eyebrow at the demon, who blinked up at him innocently. 

The angel sighed, deciding that arguing over a more comfortable sofa wasn’t a battle worth fighting. Instead, he turned to look around the tiny room above his book shop. While they’d cleaned up most of the wrapping paper, Christmas litter (in the forms of boxes, plastic packaging, and other odds and ends) made the room look even smaller. 

Despite the closed-in feeling, he smiled. This year they had friends over and had made it a  _ real _ Christmas. Anathema and Newt had spent the day with them, while Shadwell and Madam Tracy had popped in for Christmas drinks

Madam Tracy was Jewish and celebrated Hanukkah, but hasn't been against joining their celebration. So it was that for the first time in years, it had been more than simply the two of them, and Aziraphale’s heart had never felt fuller. 

Aziraphale smiled lovingly at the stack of books Crowley had gifted him. Somehow the demon had gotten his hands on the complete set (first edition copies as well) of The Rover Boys. Newt and Anathema had gotten him  _ The Baking Bible,  _ which promised to be the latest and most comprehensive baking book yet. Madame Tracy and Sargent Shadwell’s gift sat in its box under the tree. 

_ “A little something for you to keep that demon of yours in line, dear.” Madame Tracy had said and winked as she handed over a slim box wrapped in paper decorated with dreidels.  _

_ Aziraphale’s face had turned bright pink, matching the shade of the nine-tail whip exactly as he opened it to hoots and hollers from the rest of the room.  _

_ Despite wondering in which universe he, an angel, would use such a thing on anyone (demon or not) he thanked her, then quickly offered to pour the next round of drinks.  _

“Actually, Angel…” Crowley said, and suddenly his voice sounded far more alert than it had minutes prior. “I might have a solution.”

Despite having  _ just _ gotten comfortable, Crowley stood from the sofa and lifted his hands high above his head, and began to stretch. Aziraphale ginned at his demon, the motion made Crowley’s already too tight shirt ride up, revealing his navel and he had to fight the urge not to swoop down and kiss it. Once he was finished stretching, Crowley picked his way across the room, carefully stepping over piles of presents or rubbish until he’d reached the tree. 

“Co’mere.” He said, motioning for Aziraphle to come and stand next to him. As soon as Aziraphale was standing beside him, Crowley turned to the tree and began to search through the branches, muttering, “I know it’s here somewhere… Now, where did I put it?”

“Crowley, dear…” Aziraphale said, looking over to the table by the sofa and counting the empty wine bottles, “you’ve had seven bottles of wine. Perhaps you’re not thinking clearly? What are you rooting around inside the tree for?”

“Shhhhh… You’ll find out soon enough…” Morphing into his snake form Crowley slithered along one of the branches. Aziraphale watched in horror as the once beautiful tree began to shake and rock on its base.

Ornaments were sent flying off of the branches. The lights were knocked this way and that. Once every few seconds, a part of Crowley’s red underbelly would peek out through the needles. 

“Crowley… I had intended to keep the tree up for a few more days…” Aziraphale scolded as a ceramic cherub went flying past his left ear. He caught the ornament before it shattered against the floor, put it down on a nearby table, and planted both hands on his hips. “Crowley!” He said, this time more sternly.

“Anthony J. Crowley!” Aziraphale snapped, his temper getting the best of his angelic demeanor. “My floor is now  _ covered _ in needles and bits of branches. You have to the count of ten to come out of that tree, or I will miracle it into a cactus!” 

“One… two…” the tree hissed then shook precariously. Aziraphale’s countdown was interrupted on seven by the sight of his demon’s head, sticking out of the branches. Still in snake form, there was a small box positioned hazardously between his fangs.

Crowley’s tongue darted forward and he hissed, “Take itttttt.” 

“Ehm…” Aziraphale cautiously reached out and plucked the box from Crowley’s mouth. Crowley disappeared back inside the tree which rocked once more as he slithered down the trunk. Once on the floor again he changed back into human form and brushed the needles from his har. 

“Go on,” Crowley said, unperturbed by his disastrous appearance. As if wearing half a Christmas tree was completely normal. “Open it.”

Curiosity soon overrode Aziraphale’s confusion. Carefully lifting the lid off the tiny box he let out a soft squeak when he saw a single gold ring nestled inside on a bed of tartan satin. 

“Husband has a better ring to it than  _ Demon _ , don’t you think?” Crowley’s voice cut through the angel’s awe and he looked up to see Crowley beaming at him.

“Oh my… it most certainly does, my dear.”    
  
“Is that a yes?” came the question, with just the tiniest hint of nervousness.

“Yes, Crowley.”

With pine needles in his hair, and bits of twigs and broken ornaments sticking out of his clothing, Crowley grinned and looked up. Aziraphale followed his gaze and watched as a sprig of mistletoe appeared before his eyes. 

Laughing Aziraphale slipped the ring onto his finger and joined Crowley under the mistletoe. When their lips met, the angel sighed and melted against his friend.

“Merry Christmas, my dear.”

“Happy holidays,” Crowley amended, and Azirahphle nodded in agreement. 


End file.
